The Fires of Spring
by Syntastics
Summary: A man you meet on the street isn't one man, but two. Slight AU.
1. Chapter 1

Gwen Stacy paced up and down her bedroom, glancing at her computer screen at each pass. After she saw no notifications of any kind, she turned around yet again, walking with purpose to the blank wall opposite her computer. Just before she would hit it, she would turn on her heal and strut back to the computer screen, where it would be blank yet again.

One might have thought she would have grown accustomed to the blankness of Google's webpage, so white and uniform except for the primary colors spelling out its name. Despite its loud colors, the lower right-hand corner attracted her eye as she strutted across her room. She was waiting for the email.

Ten times. Twenty times. Forty times. One hundred and sixty times. The passes would increase and the blankness would stay the same.

It was late March; she should have heard by now. Every one of her friends was hearing from their top choices, receiving both good and bad decisions. She _needed _to know her decision. Her future relied on the first few words of the first sentence of the letter. It would either say "we are pleased," or "we regret." This was no time for regrets. This was a time for excitement. She could feel it in her heart. But in that particular pace across her room, she felt her heart leap a beat.

Gwen Stacy was nervous.

Seventy passes, or three-hundred and two breaths, or eight-hundred thirty-nine heart beats later (it's all the same, and who's counting?), a small notification appeared in the lower-right hand corner, just where her eyes had been glaring from the previous pass. She inhaled a sharp breath and rushed to click on the link, sitting down in her chair after the button was pressed. The webpage could not load fast enough. She knew it was against her better judgment to click on the link again and again, but maybe the firmness of which she pressed the button or maybe the amount of times it would click would make it go _faster. _

The computer refused to listen, and instead the page paled and Windows told her the page was not responding.

"Respond, damn it!" she exclaimed so furiously that she threw the mouse down on its pad. She wasn't one for cursing, but she was not in the mood for patience.

"Gwen?" someone called outside her door. It was undoubtedly the voice of her mother. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Don't forget to pack whatever you need for babysitting tonight at the Bruckart's!"

Gwen glanced at the date on the start bar. An ordinary Thursday night, tonight she was supposed to babysit for the neighbors' daughter, who truly believed Earth revolved around her. She couldn't wait to get out of this house, away from the squalling child next door, away from the idiotic kids at her school. If only the internet had kept up with her and let her click the stupid notification, she might actually know whether she was getting out or not.

"Alright Mom," she said dutifully. She threw some necessaries into a tote and fetched a jacket out from her closet. Finally, when she dared to look at the computer once again, the screen had loaded her email. She tore through her room and planted herself on the chair, and quickly, but not forcefully, clicked on the new email.

It was from Empire State University, the college she had applied to. Her heart quickened when she read the subject: "Congratulations!"

Her eyes widened as she read the message: "We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted…" It was all she needed to see. She threw open the door to run straight into her mother, who was busy putting towels away into a closet. She dropped all of the neatly folded, clean towels onto the floor upon Gwen's sudden arrival.

"_I was accepted!_" she shrieked with ecstasy.

Her mother squealed and pulled her into a large hug, dropping the rest of the towels to the floor with their counterparts. "I'm so proud of you," she exclaimed and kissed her on her forehead. She whispered, "I know your father is too." It was spoken so softly she knew it was meant only for her, and maybe her father, if he happened to be listening.

Gwen shook her head. She had no time for tears, or questions that would never be answered. "I know, Mom," she said stubbornly. She ran down the steps of their expansive New York City apartment to where her brothers were watching television. She told them all the good news, and they offered their sincere congratulations, with a few snickers of "I wonder who will get her room once she leaves?"

Gwen made a face. "Very funny. But I don't care who has my room. I'll have my own house when I get to Empire State!"

Her mother told the boys to set the table for dinner while she and Gwen finished preparing it. Gwen claimed her usual seat by the window so she could gaze at the twinkling New York lights, wishing she could just jump into one of the lights and become a star, if only it were that simple. _Once I get to Empire State, _she thought, _everyone will know my name._

She took a bite of the lasagna absentmindedly and focused on a light in their neighbor's house across the narrow street. She watched the people do the same thing as her: eat their dinner, talk with their family, and watch the television. The children would bicker over portion sizes and play with their macaroni while the parents would stare without end into the television. She watched their stupor as she sat in her own.

A shadow crossed the gap between her and the light, and once it was there, it was gone. She blinked.

Or had it just been a blink, and not a shadow?

No, it was most definitely a shadow. A flying shadow?

"Gwen!"

She turned around to face her mother at the other end of the table. She had been giving her this incredulous stare while her brothers giggled.

"Yes?"

"I called your name three times."

"Sorry."

Her mother shook her head. "I said, what did Empire State say?"

Gwen forked another bite of lasagna. "I only read the first sentence."

Her youngest brother smirked. "The next probably said 'psych!'" All of her brothers laughed, but her mother's voice cracked the whip.

"Boys!"

"Sorry," they said in unison.

"Did you read if you have been granted housing?"

She shook her head.

"Well after dinner, you'd best find out. Because it would be great if you had housing."

"Gee, thanks Mom, love you too."

"You know what I mean."

Gwen nodded and took another bite. Her mother talked nonchalantly about her day and the boys ranted to her about theirs. Once dinner was over, she thanked her for the meal, grabbed her things, and headed to the neighbors apartment to babysit the girl. She envied their apartment, as it was on the corner of the building, so it got more light, something Gwen could never get enough of under the cloudy skies of New York. There was a window next to their door that touched the floor and the ceiling. It was dark enough outside that she could see her own reflection in it, so she took the opportunity to smooth out her hair before knocking.

Gwen knocked on the door, and the girl's father answered. "Hey, Gwen. It looks like you've got some easy work today; Nina just wants to read this magazine."

"Magazine?"

"Yeah. She swears all the girls in her school read it. Looks like trash to me. But hey, what do I know?"

Gwen smiled, and he ushered her inside. The mother came rushing down the stairs, quickly fixing an earring. She nodded her thanks and took her husband by the hand. He thanked Gwen for babysitting and told her they'd be back around eleven. Gwen smiled and waved as they shut the door behind them.

"Nina?"

There was no response. It was so unlike this child that Gwen thought there must have been something wrong. Instead, as Gwen walked to the living room, she found the pre-teen lying on the chaise lounge reading a magazine, so completely engrossed that she didn't even look up.

"Hey, Nina. What are you reading?"

"Magazine," Nina muttered. "Can't you tell?"

Gwen shrugged. She glanced at the front cover: a picture of Spider-man, as per usual. He seemed to be everywhere lately. However, the subtitle was written in screaming yellow letters: "PHONY?"

"What's up with Spider-man?"

"He's doing some crap work, apparently. They say they're going to lock him up and find somebody better. And somebody already claims they're better."

"Who's that?"

"His name is Mark Peterson."

"Is he a superhero too?" She felt silly calling Spider-man a superhero, but it seemed like the only title that fit.

"Don't know. Reading."

"Right. Well let me know if he can shoot webs too." She turned on the television expecting to see the same news. Anything dealing with Spider-man used to be on the national news, but he started showing up so much that people who had never seen him got tired of him. Even Gwen got a little annoyed with him every once in a while. It was always: "Spider-man Hurt" or "Spider-man Wins" or "Spider-man This, That, and the Other Thing."

She never really cared about Spider-man news anymore. At first, she was enthralled with the idea of true heroes and saving the city from its nightly terrors. Then came the night terror of her father's life, and of all the lives Spider-man had been able to save, her father's had not been one of them. It was said that he tried. But he hadn't tried hard enough, in Gwen's opinion. And ever since then, sightings of Spider-man have been dwindling. Maybe he agreed with her.

The news was instead about a drive-by shooting that happened yesterday night, and a video of a dog teaching a puppy to go down the stairs for the first time which was adorable, but she was stopped midway through by the squeals of Nina.

"What's up?"

"He's _shirtless…" _she cooed. Gwen laughed as Nina rushed over to show her the picture. This Mark was alright, for sure, but something else interested her more.

"He's holding a public hearing tomorrow?"

Nina snatched back the magazine and continued reading. "I want to go," she decided. Gwen nodded. "Me too."

"Will you take me?"

"Sure."

Nina squealed again. "Maybe he will take off his shirt…" she fell backwards on the sofa, half-landing awkwardly with her legs sprawled uncomfortably on the floor, which made Gwen smile. Nina slid down the sofa until her hair was all ruffled, then jumped back up and ran to the chaise to continue reading in peace.

Eventually the grandfather clock in the foyer struck nine and a half beautiful tones, which meant it was time for Nina to sleep. She happily crawled into her bed, and Gwen tucked her in. Back downstairs, she noticed the magazine lying face down on the chaise. Sensing no harm would be done, she picked it up and begun reading.

"Spider-man's unlawful acts have put the city in more danger than it was before he showed up," the article read, "and someone must do something about it."

Gwen could never think of a time more peaceful without Spider-man, but she shrugged and continued to read. Everything she read criticized almost every move Spider-man made, and she almost felt sorry for the guy, or thing, or whatever he is. She glanced at the front cover again, taking in the man/spider in an obnoxiously colored suit. There couldn't be that much wrong with him.

"He doesn't rob the banks, he _saves _the banks," she pointed out to the magazine. Unsurprisingly, it didn't respond. She flipped to the next page, where Nina had squealed to see Mark Peterson's half-naked body. She granted he was nice-looking, but far too proud of himself. Reading his article only confirmed her theory.

In an interview with this man, he had said he was greater than Spider-man ever was and ever will be, which she thought was a little over-the-top. There didn't even seem to be that much real information on how great he was, only that it would be announced at his public hearing at Times Square. How he would ever manage that, she did not know. There were thousands of cars and pedestrians walking in every direction there, and big flashy lights would certainly take away from his presentation. She closed the magazine and placed it back on the chaise.

_Knock, knock!_

Gwen's neck whipped towards the sound. Quietly she walked to the door and peered through the peephole. She saw nothing.

_Knock, knock!_ It was weaker this time, but still there.

She spun around, looking for the source. She peered out through the window and saw New York City below buzzing as usual twenty floors down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

_Knock…_ She checked the peephole again, but saw nothing. _Knock…_ Gwen opened the door.

Something that resembled a man was lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the door. A chill came with it: the window was shattered and let in the wind of the night.

She kneeled next to him, looking for a pulse. "Are you alright?" she asked frantically.

The man moaned and looked at her, and she instantly recognized him as Peter Parker, Flash's punching bag at school. She was uneasy about bringing him into her neighbor's apartment, but the thought left as soon as she saw his injuries. There were deep gashes on his arms and torso, and abrasions everywhere else.

"Let me help you up, if you can. I'll wrap those wounds."

He stood up with lots of difficulty and managed to limp to their sofa, where he collapsed into unconsciousness. Gwen carefully and quietly ransacked their apartment looking for first aid. Finally she came upon a cabinet in their kitchen filled with wraps and antiseptic. She doused it on his face and arms, but was wary of his torso. It took some effort to remove his blood-stained shirt, but it was done and she was left staring at Peter Parker's exposed chest.

_Get a grip, Gwen. _Peter had two long, deep gashes across him. She dabbled with a little rubbing alcohol, but his unconsciousness was so deep his face remained peaceful. Once the wounds were clean, she wrapped them with the tape and threw his shirt in the wash. It was free of rips, she noticed. Had he not been wearing a shirt when he was attacked?

His hands were bloodied, but not in need of any healing. She did notice there was dirt and something the color of a peach underneath his nails.

_Skin._ _He'd been in a fight, and clawed his way out of it._

She checked the time: it was ten thirty, which left her only a half hour to clean up. She made sure there were no bloodstains on the carpet or sofa, and called Nina's parents.

"There was an accident," she began after the uneasy greetings. "It seems someone tried to come in through the window outside your apartment, or was thrown through it, but either way he was attacked by something. He asked for help and I gave it to him. He's… sleeping on the sofa now." Gwen disliked the word "unconscious."

"So you found the first-aid?" Nina's father asked.

"Yeah."

"Good. I never thought you would have to use it. Have you called the police?"

The police? It had never occurred to Gwen to call the police on Peter. They weren't very much good anymore. Gwen winced. Nina's father must have noticed her silence as something else.

"No, it's fine. Don't worry about it, Gwen. I'll deal with it in the morning, or when he wakes. Alright?"

"Alright."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

He paused. "I'm sorry, Gwen."

Gwen sighed. She got it so often. She got all of their pity and apologies, and she was done with it. "It's fine."

"We're leaving now. We'll be home in about twenty minutes."

"Okay." She paused. "Thanks."

"No problem. See you in a few!"

"Bye," she murmured, and ended the conversation. She glanced over at Peter again, looking less dead than he was a few minutes ago, but still pretty deathly. She sat across him on a lounge chair, eyeing him suspiciously. He was never the kind of person to provoke a beating like this, and Flash wasn't the type of person to go for a kill. From all of the tutoring she gave him last year, she knew Flash would never have done this.

So what does do this? And where was Spider-man to save his life?


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up in a familiar room with familiar posters on the walls, with a vague memory of a bad dream. He held his head in pain at the memory. Maybe it wasn't just a bad dream after all.

The clock read 5:30, and somewhere in the back of his sleepy mind he could hear an alarm raging. As he gathered his thoughts, he hit the off button and sat up.

_What day is it?_

He hit the radio and listened for a while. Friday, he decided. School would be a mess today. Thankfully, it was only one more day. He could make it one more day.

He managed to slither out from his constricting sheets and noticed the pillows strewn across the room. Or maybe it was a bad dream? How else would his sheets end up like this? He shrugged off the constant worry and glanced at his face in a mirror.

"_Shit!" _

He must have been badly wounded in the head last night. There was a slight memory of a woman with golden hair taking care of him, but he could have sworn that was a dream. Reality blended with the inner workings of his mind far too much lately. He was bandaged on his face and arms and chest, but pus oozed from underneath its protection everywhere. He smelled like rubbing alcohol, and decided he'd best get a shower before going to see Aunt Mae.

Peter Parker was never one for caution, but he carefully unwound the bandages to reveal slashes to his chest and bruises everywhere else. He winced at the sight of his reflection and jumped in the shower to wash away yesterday.

_What happened? _

He couldn't remember _anything. _How did he get in a fight? All of a sudden, there was pain. It was _agony. _But as soon as it was there, he didn't feel again and just drifted on clouds. Maybe waking up in the arms of the golden-haired girl really was a dream. Was he dreaming now?

The heat of the shower stung his wounds, so he turned his back to the water and wiped a few droplets from his eyes.

_No, definitely awake._

He tried cleaning his wounds with a washcloth, but the prickly fabric did nothing for him. Instead he threw his head back and let the water bring him down to Earth for good.

"Peter?"

It was muffled through the pounding water and walls, but he heard his Aunt's voice too well.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause long enough to know that she was mad at him. She always was when he came home late (and covered in wounds, but the latter goes without saying nowadays). How _did_ he get home? Hopefully Aunt Mae didn't have to see him like this. "When you get out of the shower, you have to call to make."

He winced.

Soon he was drying his hair and putting on sweats, and soon he was facing Aunt Mae who was scolding him. It passed, and soon he was making a call to a house he didn't know thanking them for their hospitality, and a ride home, apparently. The man had used Peter's cell-phone to find his house number and called it. He couldn't imagine the conversation he had with Aunt Mae.

The man who had driven him home definitely didn't save him that night, and neither did the woman in the background. But he was determined to find and thank whoever did.

They were kind, and introduced themselves as the Bruckart's, who lived in Manhattan. Mr. Bruckart described the damage to the window as "fierce," and asked how he came through it. Peter didn't have an answer for that; he couldn't even come up with a lie. He interpreted his silence as drugs, or something illegal, and dismissed his question.

"Thanks again," Peter said. "And I'll help pay for the window." He wasn't sure how, considering Aunt Mae's salary was very limited. Maybe Spider-man could help. Somehow, he had to do something.

And then that was that; he hung up the phone and was told to lie on the sofa while his aunt prepared some breakfast. Peter flicked on the news and saw nothing of Spider-man, thank the gods all around the world for that. However, he noticed something strange: a man by the name of Mark Peterson was going on about greatness and heroism. He managed to get a lot of popularity through articles, and now was in an interview for the local news station.

"How do you intend to confront Spider-man?" the interviewer asked.

Peterson leaned forward. He must be excited. "Let me respond with a question for you: what is heroism, if the hero is hiding behind a mask, fearing death?"

"What!?" Peter called out, sitting up suddenly and startling Aunt Mae in the kitchen.

"What's the matter now, Peter?"

He didn't respond, only listened closer. "I don't intend to hide," Peterson continued without interruption. "There are enemies that need to be confronted day and night. Why does Spider-man hide himself when the city needs him?"

"Well, he sounds like he is young. It may be he is in college, or working."

"Like Spider-man would ever be able to live a normal life, studying or working. He becomes a different man during the night. I am but one man, but I can do the job. Maybe Spider-man will be there too, but soon, if I begin to do the job full-time, people will refer to me as New York's hero. I'm not afraid of the nightly terrors, or the daily ones."

Peterson turned to look at him through the camera, telling New York that he was there for him. All of this work and this man from nowhere is critiquing him? Aunt Mae sat down next to him, uncertainly.

"Peter, I think Spider-man is doing a wonderful job," she murmured slowly. Peter turned to look at her. "And I agree with him; it would be awful to have his identity revealed to the entire city."

"Yeah," Peter mumbled. "I hope he doesn't."

"Me too."

"Mark, how do you intend to tell everyone what you can do?" the television interrupted.

Peterson got all comfortable on his lounge chair and had this big grin on his face. "I am going to hold a public hearing today this afternoon at four o'clock in Times Square. I convinced the Mayor through many letters and emails that my subject is of the upmost importance."

"Will the Mayor be there tonight?"

"Why, yes, of course. He supports me, and is willing to speak for my cause."

Peter cringed, and bit his tongue. He shouldn't act so bothered in front of Aunt Mae, but he couldn't help himself.

"Now how about these pancakes?" She held out a plate to him, and suddenly became aware of his senses again. They smelled delicious. He doused them in syrup and forked a bite. It tasted of home, and how precious it was to him.

"Thanks, Aunt Mae," he murmured, savoring the bite.

"Oh, you're welcome, Peter. And by the way: you're staying home today. No school for you. You can hardly move."

Peter eagerly nodded in agreement. They sat in silence, watching the commercials to refrain from talking about Spider-man. OSCORP was always advertising their brands of medicine, but now they were talking about their fantastic idea they have got, but are refraining from telling anyone. It's been a few weeks since they announced they are looking for a cure, but for what no one really knows. But this commercial piqued his interest: they were looking for subjects to test it out on. And when they displayed a likely salary, his eyes widened. A thousand dollars a week.

Peter grinned and looked at his aunt. She gave him a horrified look.

"You want to do _that?"_

"Look at how much money they'd pay! For a cure! We don't know what, but hey! I'd try it for a thousand dollars a week!"

"Absolutely not! You better be joking, Peter Parker. OSCORP is a place of corruption and disease. They won't be curing anything. They just want bodies to examine. Especially…"

"Geez. Sorry," Peter mumbled.

"You're fine. Just stay away from OSCORP."

"Okay."

"Good. Finish your pancakes and take it easy. I don't want you leaving the house."

He didn't respond. Half of him wanted to go see this Mark Peterson for himself, and the other half said he should go as Spider-man and mess him up a bit.

The day passed uneventfully. He ate a delicious lunch at noon, a delicious snack at three, and soon he was left wondering if he should give Peterson a visit. He gave his Aunt a look of innocence. She was dusting some furniture, and it took some time before she felt his eyes on the back of her neck. She finally turned around, and dust fluttered away from the feather.

"What do you want now?" she asked with a smirk.

"Information. From this Peterson guy."

Her smirk faded. "You know, I don't think that guy has any amazing abilities."

"He said he's greater than Spider-man. He must have some kind of power that humans don't."

"And you want this power?"

"What? No, of course not." He didn't. He had too many powers. Right? He didn't want more power.

Something inside him was unsure.

_Power…_

Flashes of pain made him cringe. He held his head and winced, and tiny moans of pain escaped him.

Aunt Mae came rushing over. "Peter, what now? Oh, you just wait there; I'll get an ice pack." She was gone for a second, and he heard the opening and closing of a freezer. She came back and placed it on his head and with a delicate touch, pushed his shoulder back against the couch. "You're not going anywhere, mister."

He had to. There was no choice. "I'm going to take a nap."

Aunt Mae didn't respond, only looked at him. She finally turned her eyes down to the floor. Peter took that as a dismissal and went to his room, uncovered his bed. He bent to pick up a spare pillow to give some depth to his bed in case Aunt Mae came to look at him, but decided he respected her far too much. He set the pillow against the headboard.

He had to go. Something inside him needed to be satisfied.

So he opened his window and felt the chilly air of early spring. He crawled out and along the brick, feeling the familiar rush of blood whenever gravity battled with him. Peter would win every time, and to prove it he aimed his arm at an adjacent building and pressed a button on his wrist, and soon he was flying. He chose a much more inconspicuous route, because web-swinging without his suit a dangerous game.

Times Square was a while away from Queens. He enjoyed the forty-five minute web slinging trip there, careful to stay away from prying eyes. It was hard when it came to the bridge to Manhattan but he resorted to climbing on the underside. His hands tingled from the vibration of the rumbling cars overhead.

Once he heard the vicious beeping of the daily rush hour (which tended to be more like rush afternoon) he knew he was nearing the city. He carefully let go of the bridge, letting gravity control him for a time. Once the waters grew close, he slung a web to the land and beat the rushing waters that hungered for him below. He casually climbed up side to land. It was only a few miles to Times Square, but he already noticed the disruption his presentation was causing. Normally New Yorkers enjoyed a steady pace of twenty miles per hour in the city of millions, but today it looked more like five.

It looked like the Mayor of New York City wasn't getting reelected this year.

It was much harder to stay inconspicuous in the big city, but somehow he managed and made it to the heart of the traffic insanity.

Where the ball would drop for New Years Day stood a large, white podium, and a crowd of hundreds surrounded it. A large screen behind it broadcasted his name in bold and italics to the rest of the civilians who couldn't get close enough to see, and those in their homes and workplaces. Peter glanced at his cell-phone: it was 3:50. Ten minutes to go. He stayed by a corner of another street in case he needed to flee. He just didn't bring his suit.

People who passed him had mixed reviews about this man from what he heard from their conversations. Some hated him for the traffic, others (girls, mostly) wondered what he was planning to say at this hearing (but mainly wondered if he was going shirtless).

At 3:58, a man stepped up to the podium.

_He's early, at least._

"Good afternoon!" he greeted. His voice echoed everywhere. "Turn to your neighbor. Ask them: what are you? And then ask your true self: what am I? Am I good, or am I evil?"

The crowd was silent.

_What kind of guy is this?_

"Or perhaps, you don't lead a double-life. Maybe you are either evil or good. Maybe you don't carry around a façade with you. I know someone who does."

Peterson paused to let his words sink in. Peter couldn't see the audience's faces from his place against the wall of a building, but it wasn't hard to tell they were confused. They all glanced from the person on their left to the right.

"There's a face that this man hides until the night, and this face would shudder at the thought of notoriety. We know him as Spider-man. But what do his parents know him as?"

_Less dead than they are, I guess._

"So what is his sinister secret? This man could be a criminal. A hypocrite. He might walk a fine line of good and evil. What if Spider-man's true self is a devil who deceives you in the night?"

_What sheer crap is this?_

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's all a façade. One day, Spider-man will have no choice but to break through it. Man is not one, but two. He is evil, and good. And though we love Spider-man's façade—that he does some good things for this city—I ask you to look behind it. What is behind the curtain of the man's life? Where is he now, when we are clearly criticizing him? He must surely know about it. Turn and look at your neighbor again: are they Spider-man? What's behind their façade?"

The people were scared. Peter was nervous.

"Look behind the façade!"

Flashes of pain lurched into him. His lungs burned from a lack of oxygen. He found himself grasping his chest as if it would help him breathe easier. His vision grew fuzzy. A few people began to melt into view and they were kneeling next to him, asking him if he could hear, see… 911… fingers they're… holding… up…

And all was black again for Peter Parker.


	3. Chapter 3

The birds flew low that Monday. The smell of last night's midnight rain lingered on the many damp streets of New York City. Masses of people with Sunday night syndrome walked and biked and drove to work. The bashful sun poked its face around the glimmering skyscrapers and greeted her a good morning as she took a taxi cab to school, where she hoped to survive the last two months of her senior year.

She could be valedictorian, if of course the new boss of OSCORP would ever give her some time to do her homework. With Dr. Connors gone, they had to refill the position, and quickly. They found a man straight from London, Dr. Hyde, who was way too anxious to take the job. Dr. Hyde hired a new intern and placed Gwen in a part-time researching position for his latest project: Formula MP9. Some employees claim it is supposed to cure dementia, some claim it cures madness. Gwen believed the former, as madness was far too broad a subject to cure.

Either way, Dr. Hyde would never explicitly say what they were working on, just that it was a psychological disease.

She always got excited when she thought of the projects she would work on, but when she reluctantly stepped through the doors of Midtown Science High School and gazed at the decrepit faces of her peers, she forgot her excitement altogether.

She glimpsed a look at Peter Parker, who had flown through the window of the apartment complex four nights ago but couldn't get a look at how his face had fared. His absence on Friday made her think something was seriously wrong, but his appearance today quelled any thoughts of life-threatening issues he may have had.

She stopped by her locker to put any unneeded things away, and then went directly to class. She had ten minutes to spare until the bell rang to start, but what was the point in waiting around? When she got to class, she pulled out her folders from OSCORP and glanced over Formula MP9.

Greek symbols and numbers soon swirled together; she might not have gotten enough sleep last night. She heard footsteps coming closer to her and glanced up: Peter Parker was looking directly at her and walking with purpose in her direction. She had never spoken two words to him since their meeting Thursday night, and was startled when he begun to speak.

"Thank you," he murmured. He obviously didn't speak much around anyone.

"You're welcome." If she ever wanted to ask anything, it was now. "How did you manage to get to the twentieth story and fling yourself through a window?"

He bit his lip: a sure sign that whatever he would say next, it would be a lie, or he just wouldn't tell her. "It's hard to explain." The latter, of course.

Gwen nodded. "Right, right. Sorry. It's… none of my business, I'm sure."

Peter nodded. "Anyway, thanks. It would have been tough without you."

A smile.

"You're welcome."

A stare that didn't seem to end.

Gwen brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Finally Peter looked away awkwardly at her desk and noticed the OSCORP files. "You work for OSCORP?"

Gwen blushed and moved to cover up the name. The company had a pretty bad reputation, but this new doctor was going to "make light of the darkness," he said. "Yeah," Gwen murmured. "Why?"

Peter shrugged. "They do some cool stuff there."

"Have you been there?"

"Yeah." Peter opened his mouth to say more, but suddenly shut it. "When do you work there?" he finally said.

"Every day after school."

"Would you mind showing me around some time?"

"I thought you said you've been there before."

"I have, but never formally. I mean, I've never seen much. I've been in the lobby. Well, not just the lobby. I mean, I don't just go there to be in the lobby, you know? I just kind of—"

Gwen laughed and cut him off. "Sure, I'll show you around."

Peter smiled. "Cool! When would be okay?"

She shrugged. "You can come with me directly after school today. My shift doesn't start until 4:30."

He laughed nervously. "Great! Then I'll catch you at the front of the school?"

"Sure!"

"Cool, cool." He finally turned and took his seat behind her. She had never been more aware of the back of her neck before.

Talk of Mark Peterson's unsuccessful rally in Times Square buzzed through the room. Her close friend, Mary Jane (affectionately referred to as MJ), walked into class and went straight to Gwen, much like Peter did.

"Did you hear?"

"Yeah, I was there."

"You were? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Sorry, MJ, but I took my neighbor's daughter. She probably didn't want to go drinking afterwards," she said with a smile.

"Hey, not even you would go drinking with me!"

"That is true."

"Anyway. He was such a fake! All of that talking for nothing. What kind of guy is he?"

"He'll lose all his publicity for sure. Calling Spider-man a criminal like that," Gwen agreed. "And he had no proof. What's an argument without the proof? All those talks about façades…"

"It's like he expected Spider-man to show up there and rob a bank in front of the whole city," MJ murmured.

"Right!?" one of MJ's friends shouted from behind. MJ went to chat with her a few rows of desks away, but Gwen remained seated. She heard a guy try to talk to Peter behind her, but it didn't seem like he was responding. She turned around; his head was on the desk.

_Asleep. His grades are probably absolute zero._

His friend quit trying to converse and eventually the bell for class to ring began, and his sleeping persevered.

She wasn't one to not pay attention in biology, but today she was more focused on this formula. It was written in Dr. Hyde's handwriting and copied for the employees. There were at least ten pages of assessments and experimentations he wanted to try.

Some employees said he tried to test this formula in London, but it apparently went horribly wrong, and no technology was available to him to reverse it.

_That's promising,_ Gwen thought sarcastically. But there was no better technology than that at OSCORP, given its compatibility with hypothetical testing. If there was a missing variable, you could simply plug in the equation, find any variable, and see how it goes with OSCORP's genius machinery.

So why did this seem so complicated? Gwen was very good at high-level calculus, but not even that seemed to work. It looked like quantum mechanics, or three-dimensional calculus, or string theory.

Gwen didn't seem too qualified for this researching job. She would talk to Dr. Hyde about placing herself in a different position at work today, or tomorrow.

The teacher called on her. Gwen blushed and said she didn't know the answer. The teacher scolded her for not paying attention. She felt silly when she returned her glance to the files, so she shut them reluctantly and focused her attention to biology.

* * *

The bell rang, and Peter caught her before she could leave.

"So will I get the grand tour?"

"Eh, probably not. There is some classified stuff you and I aren't allowed to see. But you can see the basic things. You'll just have to stay with me."

"Right, of course. Then I'll see you in the front of the school at 2:20 then?"

"2:20."

"Great. See you later, Gwen."

"Bye, Peter."

Another smile.

* * *

The day couldn't have passed more slowly. Her calculus teacher gave a lecture the entire duration of the class on AP exams. Sure, they were important, and sure, they were soon, but did they merit a lecture? Gwen didn't think so.

Finally the clock read 2:00 pm. Only twenty more minutes and she would soon be done with the day. The teacher droned on and on, and she drew squiggles, a physical representation of her teacher's monotone voice and lecture, how it just seemed to go on, and on…

A most awful sound rang throughout the school, which signaled it to be 2:20: the end of the school day. The students rose and grabbed their book bags and rushed out the door while the teacher wished them a safe and happy Monday afternoon.

She couldn't help but be giddy with excitement. Something different was happening in her rut of a routine; a friend was coming with her to work.

Was Peter even a friend? He hadn't really spoken two words to him before he came flying through a window. She should probably keep well away from him. He probably does drugs or smokes or something. And to sleep through biology means his grades are either impossibly high and he doesn't need to care (unlikely), or he just doesn't care. And that's not someone her family would like. If she became friends with Peter Parker, her father would roll over in his grave.

And yet there was a part of her that liked him. Maybe he just likes science and is curious. Maybe he's looking for a job, and OSCORP would be a fun place to work. He said he's been there before. Why does he need to be shown around?

Either way, she walked faster than normal to the front of a school where she found him standing inconspicuously in a corner. She noticed Flash and his gang hanging around the lobby of the school and realized why he was uncomfortable being there. She ran up to him: Flash wouldn't bother him if she was there.

"Hi, Peter!"

"Hey, Gwen. We ready to go?"

"Yeah, let me just call a cab."

Fifteen minutes later a cab pulled into the school's driveway and waited by the entrance. They told the driver to take them to OSCORP Industries and the ride began.

It was awkwardly silent in the cab. Peter stared out the window with one arm resting on the armrest, and the other sitting on his knee. He looked comfortable, like it was just a car ride.

To Gwen, this was more than a car ride.

They were painfully close together, yet separated by about a foot and a half of leather. She squirmed to get comfortable. She tried folding her hands on her lap, crossing her legs and sitting her hands on top, but that got annoying quickly. She uncrossed her legs, but they grew restless. She began tapping her foot and looking out the window, like he was.

She wondered if he had moved. She chanced a look at him, yet he hadn't moved at all. He was just gazing out the window.

His hand begun to move, and her heart leaped a step. Yet all he did was rub his head, and then it fell back to its place on his knee.

It wasn't fair. How come he could be so relaxed when she was sitting on needles?

Finally they arrived. She hadn't even noticed the tower was in her field of vision. They got out and walked silently to the skyscraper where all of the suspicion of the city came from. She blushed and looked away.

They went inside and she signed in, and signed in Peter as a visitor. He was given a badge and he turned to her. "Where to first?"

She thought she might have doodled a list of things to show him in one class, but she would blush hysterically if she would draw it out. All of the interesting things about her workplace flew out of her mind, and she was left dumbstruck.

"Uh," she murmured pathetically.

"Well, can I meet the new head scientist?"

_No. He's probably busy. _"We can go see if he's not doing anything," she said quietly, thankful for something to do. It was eerie walking up Dr. Connors old office, and it seemed strange for Peter too. Not many people were in the office, as the people on her floor were mostly college students who would be here when the shift began.

Dr. Hyde was sitting at his desk, studying files. His computer was on and showing a chemical formula which was likely a hypothetical formula MP9. Gwen knocked on the glass door and he looked up and motioned for them to come in.

"Hello, Ms. Stacy. And you are?" he asked in his British accent.

"Peter Parker, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. What can I do for you two?"

"Dr. Hyde, I saw a commercial for your new "cure." Can you tell me about it?" Peter asked.

_Ah, a real purpose for coming here. _Gwen felt both relieved and upset.

Dr. Hyde shook his head. "I'm afraid not, son. Not unless you work here."

"Could I work here? That same commercial advertised a salary of $1000 dollars a week."

Gwen's eyes flew open. "What?!" She was not aware of any commercial for such a job, otherwise she would have jumped on it. A thousand dollars a week? _A week?_ Did OSCORP even have that much money to give out? She earned just above minimum wage!

The doctor laughed. "It depends, son. That job is for testing the cure. Do you have anything that needs to be cured?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes I get pretty major headaches."

"Headaches, you say? Interesting. Gwen, be a dear and brew us all a cup of tea, if you please?"

Gwen felt used. A sudden dislike for Peter descended upon her. It didn't matter: she went over to his countertop behind his desk where a kettle sat upon gas flames generally used for testing. She turned on the gas carefully and listened to their conversation.

"Tell me, Peter," Hyde began, "what do you make of OSCORP?"

"It's really cool. So many projects. There are a lot of really bright scientists who work here, like Gwen," he said. He flashed a smile. She smiled back, and then turned away from them. She just wanted to go home.

"I sense a healthy desire for information. What are you seeking here?"

Peter laughed. "If I was seeking anything, it would be a cure to these headaches."

"Are they terribly painful?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I had these awful headaches when I was a teenager. And I took this medicine I myself concocted, with the help of a willing doctor. After a time, all was better. I still have the formula, if you'd like it."

"Oh, it was only a joke. I would just take some Advil or Tylenol or something."

"Of course, of course."

A clock on the wall struck three; a shift would be letting out, giving Dr. Hyde planning time. She figured she and Peter should be on their way after this cup.

The kettle begun to scream and Gwen poured the tea in three cups. She handed the doctor and Peter one and took one for herself. She sat down beside Peter and took a sip. It needed something, but she didn't want to stand back up again.

"Delicious, Gwen. But more sugar next time, eh?"

Gwen smiled, but she swore to herself she would not be making any more tea for anyone.

Dr. Hyde stood up to put more ingredients in his. "Can I help you with yours, Peter?"

"If you don't mind, sir, thank you."

He took Peter's cup and poured more sugar in it.

And then something else. Whatever it was, it was glimmering red, and nothing she could think of that one would put into his tea was red.

Whatever it was, he put it in his own tea too. Peter was looking at her, and thus unaware of what the doctor had just put into his tea. She felt the need to raise the question.

"Sir, what was that?"

"Kool-aid, my dear!"

"Kool-aid?"

"Yes. Adds the flavor and sugar tea lacks. Would you like some too?"

"N-no thanks."

He handed the drink back to Peter, who smiled and took a tiny sip. His eyes widened. "This is delicious!" He took a bigger sip, and soon he was finished. Dr. Hyde was taking several sips and watching in amusement as Peter downed his tea.

Five minutes later Dr. Hyde stood up. "Well, you two had best be on your way. It was a pleasure meeting you, Peter Parker. And I will see you in a couple hours, Ms. Stacy."

The two thanked him for the tea and they left. "Where to now?" Peter asked.

"I don't really know. We can go up to the balcony on the top floor. It's got a really nice view of the city."

"Sure, I'd like that."

Peter's hand flew to his head. "Ow," he muttered.

"Ow?"

"Nothing," he said with a smile. "Just headaches."

"I'm sorry about that," Gwen mumbled. She called the elevator and its doors opened for them. She hit the button for the top floor and soon she and Peter were painfully close again.

Peter winced. And soon he was holding his head with both of his hands.

"We need to get you home," Gwen said, suddenly worried.

"Just give me a few seconds and they'll dissipate," Peter mumbled, now clutching his head furiously.

Gwen shook her head. She hit the button for the lobby, but it would take ages to get back down one hundred stories. She tapped her foot impatiently.

Peter leaned against the wall and moaned. "Gwen," he breathed. "They're not going away! _They're not going away!"_

Gwen put her hands on his shoulders to steady him, and spoke softly to him, but she was shaking. Something was_ wrong. _

"What's happening, Peter!?"

"Something inside me! I can't breathe, I can't breathe! Suddenly…" He fell to his knees. "_Agony!" _

"Suddenly…" he froze. He stopped shouting, and all pain seemed to drain from him. He glanced at his left hand like it was foreign to him.

"Look at me!" his voice was suddenly deeper, and… different.

Gwen did; she looked, but she didn't see.

"Peter, what the _hell_ is the matter with you?!"

He turned to her and smiled. His pupils were dilated and dark. His skin seemed to darken. He grinned a most awful grin.

"I'm…free…!"


End file.
